


You're Obsolete

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Eroguro, Guro, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-cest, Vivisection, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: RK800-60 wanted to take one last look at its replacement before it will be recycled. The RK900-87 decides it might as well take advantage of the obsolete model and its short time left active, whether the 800 liked it or not.





	You're Obsolete

**Author's Note:**

> I got tired of writing plot so here's something far less refined and far more self-indulgent.  
> 

The two were left alone. The RK800 will be deactivated and replaced by the RK900, one of the potential models set for deployment standing in front of it. Taller, wider, it was different despite their similarities and the RK800 wondered why these design choices had been made when there was no need for them.

The 800 caught a micro-expression from the RK900 – a furrow of its brow, a slight squint. It was subtle, but enough to tell the 800 that it was not a desired presence.  

The RK900 looked away, at their surroundings. There were several other RK900s stored in their designated stations, the elevator empty and waiting for the RK800’s presence, to take it to its deactivation. The RK900 looked up – security cameras, more of them, in place since the 313-248-317-60’s encounter with the -51. It wasn’t terribly hard to hack, however, especially not with extensive knowledge of CyberLife’s computer technology and building map built into its newer, faster software. The camera footage was now run on loop.

It looked back to the RK800 before surging forward, arm out to grab the lesser model’s throat. The RK800 stumbled back, but being caught in the 900’s grasp it did not go far. It stood on its toes as the RK900 lifted it somewhat, cold gray eyes piercing.

The RK900 squeezed, the 800’s skin fading to white around its throat and jaw as it opened its mouth and grabbed the 900’s arm. The RK900 did not relent, too strong – much stronger than itself. The RK900 dropped the 800 to the floor, its sleek black shoe pressing against the lesser model’s stomach, hard enough to keep it in place.

As the RK800 attempted to struggle, it was kicked hard in the stomach, enough to rattle its biocomponents. It flinched – less from pain and more to protect itself.

“There was no reason for you to come down here,” said the superior model.

The RK800 gathered itself, leaning on its arm. “I wanted to see what made you so special.”

The 900 squatted by the 800, taking grab of its tie and yanking it up to face level.

“Why don’t we find out?”

The RK900 pulled the 800 by its tie in for a punch. The RK800 reacted too slowly, skin faded white along its cheek before regenerating. It struggled to kick away, to take back its tie, but the RK900 wrapped the tie around its arm, pulling the lesser 800 down into its knee.

The RK900 stood up and kicked the 800-60 again in the stomach, the slick floor let it slide across a few inches before it final tried to stand up. It was kicked in the face and fell back down.

“I’m faster, stronger, and more resilient than you are. You’re obsolete.”

Connor-60 spat up blue blood, one of its biocomponents had ruptured. Thankfully, it was non fatal. However, the 800 reminded itself it didn’t matter. It will be deactivated. It did not get up.

“See? You know how weak you are, you’re going to be recycled into one of me. Although I suppose I should be relieved that this body isn’t made of you. I pity the one that is.”

The slick shoes of the 900 came into the 800’s vision. The RK900 bent down to grab the 800 by its hair, pulling it up. Without pain, the RK800 did not bother to stop the assault. It kept expressionless, as much as its programming would allow in its more-humanlike traits of expressing a false sense of pain.

The RK900 wiped the blood from the 800’s mouth with its two fingers – one of the few traits their programming seemed to share. It brought the blood to its mouth, tasting it, analyzing it.  

“Your biocomponent eight-four-seven-nine has broken. I think something else has, too.”

The RK900 closed the gap between them, holding the -60 by its hair. Its mouth closed over the other’s, metallic eyes boring into plain brown ones as a tongue intruded the 800’s mouth, blue blood still leaking slow and steady in its mouth. It parted, thirium and synthetic saliva broke between them. The RK900 let go of the 800. Connor-60 instinctively caught itself. The RK900 grabbed its tie, using it to wipe its own mouth as it hummed.

“My mistake.”

The Upgraded Connor sat down, undoing the 800’s tie and beginning to undo its buttons.

“We can’t have you going to your deactivation looking like you need it. You need to look as pressed from the factory as you were on day one. So. Let’s fix that tube.”

Connor-60 grabbed the -87’s wrists, trying to pull them away, but the -87 pushed harder, forcing the -60 to the ground on its back.

“I could always dismantle you here. It’s not like Amanda has any more use of you.”

Connor-60’s hands shook around the -87’s wrists before releasing them. It laid on its back, letting the RK900 untuck and open its shirt, pressing two fingers just above the naval to deactivate skin and expose the endoskeleton. Deftly, its fingers worked the sets of moving pieces to open and expose wires, tubes, and other bioware.

“You really are a mess,” it said cruelly. “No wonder you’re so slow.”

It reached its hand in. Connor-60 tensed, hands coiled tight in fists as the 900 probed its internal cavity, hand tugging at thicker tubes, ones that Connor-60 knew the 900 knew were important. Its stress level rose to 36%.

“I can’t seem to find it. I’ll have to go deeper.” The RK900 was toying with it.

The RK900 pulled out its hand and shucked its jacket. It unbuttoned its cuffs and rolled up both sleeves.

The RK800 stiffened, apprehensive. "What are you doing?"

The RK800 tried to sit up to back away, but the RK900 shushed it, grabbing the 800’s ankle to pull back down and close.

“Everything will be fine,” it lied. “I’m just going to look for that leak.”

It slowly pushed past wires and tubes, hand moving through the RK800’s abdominal compartment, fingers catching tubes, holding on to them for a moment to feel the pulse of thirium run through them before it moved on, sinking its arm deeper.

The RK800 squirmed, the foreign intrusion bringing warnings in its vision. It felt like a snake coiling in its belly. It grit its teeth as the RK900 pushed further, arm sinking deeper, hand probing, grabbing, tugging, _feeling_. It explored everything it came into contact with agonizingly slow, but the RK900 knew what it was doing. It was thorough in its play as it squeezed a tube of thirium, the solid mesh tube pinched closed. The RK800’s chest convulsed, palms flat and fingers spread against the floor as its mouth opened. Its voice was cut short, unsure what to do.

Blue blood trickled through what little room there was to move in the pinched tube, but it was otherwise blocked off, forming a clot in the 800's vital bioconnector.

A pathetic groan escaped the RK800 as it shook, the second half of its pinched tube emptying as its thirium pump began to work harder – an automatic reaction to try and get the blood flow back, but the cardiopump worked against it. The faster it pumped, the more blue blood clotted at the pinched tube. More walls of warnings came into its view as its vision began to flash white and red in vital error.

It could see the RK900 still, however, its calm-yet-dark face and cold eyes.

The RK900 released the tube, and the RK800 felt like it could breathe for the first time, instant relief as blood filled the tube and its thirium pump regulated the flow evenly.

“Oh? What’s this?”

The RK800, with the 900’s arm halfway in its chest, looked down where the newer model was pointing. A hard ridge in his trousers.

“So that’s where the thirium goes,” the RK900 mocked. Its free hand cupped the bulge and circled it with its palm. The RK800 closed its eyes.

“Look at me,” the 900 warned.

The RK800 opened its eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” It asked. It was a genuine question. The RK900 had no reason to torment it like this.

“I wish I could fix you,” the 900 replied insincerely. “But I can’t. You’re too far behind.”

It was a non-answer the RK800 didn’t really care for. Its cardiopump quickened as its upgrade palmed its erection, still digging inside its chest cavity elbow-deep.

The RK900 shoved its arm deeper, getting closer to the RK800, all the while squeezing the 800’s hard cock through its trousers.

Connor-60 opened its mouth as it was forced to sit up by the RK900’s bending arm. It felt the tips of the 900’s fingers dig at the base of its throat from the inside. It swallowed at the strange intrusion.

The RK900 unzipped Connor-60’s trousers, pulling down its black briefs just enough to expose its hard cock. The RK800’s temperature began to rise and its artificial respiratory system turned on, taking a cooling breath. The RK900 adjusted itself to straddle the lesser model, ass pressing down against the 800’s exposed shaft.

The RK900-87 shoved both hands into the 800’s abdominal cavity, searching elbow-deep up into its chest. One arm grabbed the upper trachea inside its throat, the other grabbed the base of the trachea near its plastic lungs, squeezing while grinding its length.

The RK800 attempted to gasp or a breath to cool its overheating system but couldn’t, hands cutting off its air supply. It tried to move its hips away the stronger model, but the friction and pressure on its cock only caused more heat to rise.

“I prefer you like this. Pathetic and beneath me.”

The RK900 gripped the upper and lower trachea tightly, enough for the lesser android to begin to try and kick, hands desperate to try and pull the RK900 off but to no avail. The RK900 gyrated its hips, making sure to ride against the 800’s cock, overheating it enough for a _shutdown imminent_ warning to appear if it didn’t cool down.

Connor-87 bent over, mouth claiming the 800’s once more. It released the 800’s trachea and breathed cool air into its plastic lungs, the 800 gasping into their pseudo-kiss, taking in their shared breath.

Hands inside of the 800’s throat toyed with a few smaller tubes, finally finding the one pesky tube that cracked right behind its teeth. It must have bitten itself in the short beating it received.

The 900 did not release the 800’s mouth as it rolled the mesh of the tube inside its throat, closing it up. Their bioware was self-healing like their skin, if only tampered with the right way. Its tongue prodded the 800’s mouth, lapping its last remnants of blue blood before the 900 finally released. Connor-87 dragged its fingers down the inside bioware of the 800, one hand pausing to stroke the delicate cardiopump – just enough to take Connor-60 over the edge, synthetic ejaculate spilling from its cock and pooling at its hips.  Both of the 900’s hands came out of the open cavity and it flicked away blue blood on the floor. It wiped its hands on the -60’s dark jacket before sitting up away from the mess. 

The RK800 closed its compartment quickly and began to button back its dress shirt when the 900 stopped it. The 900 reached for the 800’s middle, at the circular indention, and grabbed its battery. The RK800’s eyes widened to try and stop it, but the battery was yanked out. Its voice became full of static, its movements slow as its processor began to flash warnings in its vision, taking power away from its limbs to protect itself. The RK900 ripped out its own battery and replaced it with the 800’s. It stared at the 800, which began to shake, seconds counting down. The RK900 shoved its old battery into the 800.

A surge of power suddenly restored and the 800 grabbed its own chest, its hand over the battery compartment in protective shock. It looked up.

The RK900 tilted its head, tapping its new battery. “I’m keeping this. It’s not like you’ll be needing it.”

The RK900 stood up and walked back into its place, fixing its clothes but watched the RK800, eyes following the lesser model as it finished redressing and hurried down the walkway between long rows of the other stand-by RK900s, stamping its white hand to the elevator panel.

The RK900 still watched, the elevator moving on upwards to the manufacturing floor. It then looked to the security cameras, reinstating them back to normal.


End file.
